last I saw you were down on your knees; any

[salt]

to make something beautiful should be enough;

She lacks a love of tangible things, this girl. She tries, but they don’t keep her interest, she finds herself shifting back. She senses, somewhere deep inside her, that this is probably wrong – that there is a consequence to living like this, one she can’t articulate – but this doesn’t stop her.
The girl laughs – a solid sound, sweet on the breeze – and says I thought I imagined you and oh, Salt can’t help it, she shifts, just for a moment – from girl to ghost and back again.

“I like being imaginary,” she says, as if that explains things. A grin creeps onto her lips, now that she’s solid again.
“Nice to meet you too, Keeper.”
Keeper, she repeats to herself. A nice name. Salt keeps so little.
“I came here…” she trails off. Her reasons are either too boring or too strange. She goes with both.
“I came here because I was bored,” she says, “and because I am trying to be better at living.”

(“You’re not meant to be a ghost,” her mother sighs, “please, Salt, go.”
“I don’t want to,” she says.
“I know,” Gail sighs, “but if you don’t go, I will banish you. Go live, Salt.”)

Go live.

“What about you?” she asks, “what brings you here?”

salt